


in the story of the gestures

by spacenarwhal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26523574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: Not a bad night, really, all things considered, the guy and his friends all apprehended and receiving treatment for their own injuries with one of Brett’s officers waiting to collect them to bring them back to the precinct. There’s satisfaction to the thought, there always is, adrenaline buzzing faint and still sweet at the back of his head, but that doesn’t blot out the pain in his body. His back is already starting to stiffen, muscles achy and right shoulder tense, the tendons pulling uncomfortable when he tips his head to the side to test his range of motion. Something in his side twinges, almost as though all his sides have been yanked painfully taut.[Or: Matt comes back from a night of crime fighting. And life is alright.]
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	in the story of the gestures

**Author's Note:**

> This week (these last few weeks, thought lbr its been months) I've been feeling keenly like everything is happening so much so I decided the best thing to do was to sit down and take a moment to write something soft. I know I'm out of practice writing my favorite sons Matt and Foggy but I hope this story provides some comfort in this hectic days. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves loves!

He cringes as soon as he realizes that Foggy’s awake, winces when the tension in his body upsets the tightness in his shoulder and side. There’s no broken bones underneath the skin, but there’ll be bruising, he can feel the blood pooling hot under the skin already, the steady scalding throb marking the spot where the guy swung faster than Matt could block.

Not a bad night, really, all things considered, the guy and his friends all apprehended and receiving treatment for their own injuries with one of Brett’s officers waiting to collect them to bring them back to the precinct. There’s plenty of evidence to secure a conviction in the back room of the dry cleaners they were using as their headquarters, and the possibility of bigger fish if Brett can get any of the guys to turn. There’s satisfaction to the thought, there always is, adrenaline buzzing faint and still-sweet at the back of his head, but that doesn’t blot out the pain in his body. His back is already starting to stiffen, muscles achy and right shoulder tense, the tendons pulling uncomfortable when he tips his head to the side to test his range of motion. Something in his side twinges, almost as though all his sides have been yanked painfully taut.

“Hey stranger.” The pop of the light switch flipping on, electricity humming to life in the bulb overhead, followed by Foggy’s voice, still sleep rough but so warm. Matt pushes off the sink where he’s been standing, hands still dripping water from when he washed them. He stands a bit straighter, knows Foggy’s searching for injuries, same as any other night he wakes up to find Matt back from a night out. It’s one of the things they had to figure out after Matt came back from the not-quite-grave, one of the things they’re still figuring out. Matt’s not so sure now that there’s a finish line they’re working towards so much as they’re making a new road together, step by step and day by day. It isn’t as terrifying now as it used to be.

So Matt goes out and does what he can to help and Matt comes home, comes back to Foggy and accepts Foggy worries. (“Damn right, I’m going to worry Murdock.” Foggy said once, months ago now, “I care about you. I love you, dipshit, I’m going to worry about you. I don’t want to ever live a world without Matt Murdock in it again.” Matt’s heart had beat so hard he was sure it was going to burst free from behind his steepled ribs, and he knew, knew with embarrassing clarity what Foggy meant.)

Matt bites down on an apology that still lodges in his throat whenever he disturbs Foggy’s sleep, smiles weakly around it. Foggy comes closer, takes Matt’s face between his palms, gentle and sure. He tips Matt’s face to one side, thumb passing in gentle sweeps over his cheekbone, under his eye, pressing lightly over his jaw and at his temple. Matt tries not to shiver, eyes drifting shut when Foggy trails the pad of his finger over his eyebrow.

“Do I pass inspection?” Matt jokes weakly when Foggy moves on to the other side, and Foggy ducks closer, presses a quick dry kiss to Matt’s chin. “Handsome as ever.”

It aches a little, but not enough to keep Matt from following after Foggy’s lips as he pulls away. Foggy chuckles softly, runs his hand down the right side of Matt’s neck. Matt tries not to tense at the pain that lances up his neck, the tightness in his shoulder somehow amplified by the simple motion of tilting his head to the left.

Foggy hisses softly between his teeth. “Wanna try hot then cold or you not in the mood for a bath?”

Laughter cracks against the backs of Matt’s teeth, his tongue flicking briefly over the sweat gone dry and tacky on his upper lip. The night and the day that proceeded it are starting to bleed exhaustion across his body, blur the corners of his perception but the thought of hot water, of washing away the sweat and lingering smell of a late September evening and the chemical scent of the drycleaners is too tempting to turn down.

He doesn’t expect Foggy to slip into the shower behind him, but he does, turns Matt so his back is getting the brunt of the spray, the water nearly too hot and yet just right as it trails down Matt’s back. “You get the bad guys?” Foggy asks, running a soapy wash cloth down the length of Matt’s arms, over his chest. He pinches Matt’s nipple and snorts at Matt’s hands slapping him away, the wash cloth slapping wet against the tub floor when it falls from his hands. It’s too slippery to properly wrestle but its easy to grab Foggy close and kiss him, sloppy and loose, water dripping into his mouth and over Foggy’s tongue, mineral-rich and hard in a way that even people without enhanced senses can recognize. Foggy’s soapy hand squeezes at the nape of Matt’s neck, firm clasping motions along the rungs of his spine. It feels wonderful.

“Okay,” Foggy pretends to grumble, leaning back, “Okay, we’re not fucking around in the shower. It’s a school night.” Matt chuckles because it wasn’t on his mind, content to kiss Foggy until the water ran cold and crawl into bed damp and happy.

They make it out of the shower before the temperature drops significantly, Matt scrubbed clean and shoulder slightly looser, feels less like he’ll wrench his head off his neck if he moves too quickly. The AC unit is whirring away in the bedroom, the air cool against Matt’s shower warm skin. Foggy wanders away while Matt dresses and it takes more concentration that Matt has to spare at the moment to follow him with precision, the sound of his heart blending into the story scape of the AC units at work throughout the building, the murmur of lights, the drone of passing cars, and buzz of the billboard looking over them.

It’s alright, Matt knows, Foggy close and safe and already returning, the tread of his feet growing clearer and nearer until he’s in the room. “I think we should definitely be buying stock in the Jolly Green Giant or something.” Foggy says lightly, though its only one bag of peas he brings in addition to Matt’s actual ice pack. “For the post-modern masterpiece on your side.” Foggy explains, pressing the frozen peas flat over Matt’s ribs once he’s stretched out on the bed. The kitchen towel its wrapped in is nearly threadbare, but it’s clean and the cold bleeds through immediately, sinks into Matt’s skin and numbs the worst of the throb locked in his muscles.

The other they figure out how to position against Matt’s neck, wedged artfully to keep it from sliding off. The weight of it reassuring, the cold coming off it so strong Matt imagines it, like the wisps of fog that used to come off the sidewalk on winter mornings. Foggy runs his fingers through Matt’s hair, the motion steady, and Matt feels that rush of embarrassing clarity again, though the embarrassed is dulled now, blunt-cornered if not completely worn away.

He’s survived without all of this. For all his shortcomings, Matt knows his own ability, the things he can do for himself. Any other night he might still come back from night like this one, sore and aching but alive, treat his own sore limbs and climb into bed alone prepared for the day to come. And having this now, knowing the possibility of it, enjoying the reality of it, doesn't diminish that. But it allows something else in Matt to unfurl, curls the rigid fear he's carried for years.

Matt once feared what Foggy saw in him those mornings he came over after a rough night out. The ugly thought that Foggy would see all the worst of him, the bloody and violent, the weak and small, that Foggy would see Matt as less than he had before ate at Matt even as Foggy helped him off the floor and into the bathroom, wiped blood off his face and helped him to bed, Foggy’s hands rigid with anger and pity.

(“It’s not, it isn’t, it’s never been because you’re blind.” Foggy offered awkwardly, a bottle of whiskey sitting between them, the empty rooms over the deli looking on them in silent witness. “I mean—I think, I felt bad because you were just—really lonely. I mean. I thought you were lonely. And I guess that—I mean—shit, this is all coming out wrong. I know you’re not—you’re my best friend, man. I don’t need you to need me or something.” His heart spiked, just faintly, and Matt knew it for what it was because he felt it too, the terrible tangle of dependency they were snared in. “But you’re—you’re my family. I just—when all this—” Foggy waved a loose arm vaguely around them, referring to the whole wealth of things that happened before, the mess they had strewn behind them. “—it all sort of made me feel like that wasn’t true for you.” Matt swallowed hard, the burn of the whiskey still strong in his throat, the memory of Foggy’s words all those months ago still bearing down hard on his chest. “It is true, Foggy. For me too.”)

“Thanks, Fog.” Matt mumbles, half-asleep, the feeling in his chest still growing, swelling unchecked. If he didn’t know better he’d worry about something being knocked loose during tonight’s fight after all.

“You’re making me coffee in the morning.” Foggy says, pokes a careful finger against the center of Matt’s forehead.

Matt wants to argue, if only for the sake of being contrary, but the AC fills his ears with white noise and Foggy’s still petting his hair, slow and steady, makes it easy to slip into sleep before he’s even realized how tired he really is.

He wakes up a while later, though it hard to say how long, Foggy snoring besides him. One ice pack has slipped off entirely and the kitchen towel is soggy against his side, the peas melted to a mushy mess inside the bag. Matt flings the bag towards the floor, knows the bag will go back in the freezer to solidify for the next time duty calls. His side still aches when he moves and his neck and shoulder still feel tender when he stretches but neither bother him enough to keep him from rolling closer to Foggy.

Foggy’s on his side, makes it easy for Matt to curve his body around his, pull Foggy close so that the line of his spine is secure against Matt’s chest. The vibrations of his breathing sink into Matt’s bones, as immersive as the AC unit, as Foggy’s heart beating steady under Matt’s hand.

Matt rests his head against Foggy’s and falls back to sleep between on breath and the next.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from one of my favorite collections of poetry Rilke's Book of Hours (Love Poems to God). Highly recommend. 
> 
> Also, if you are considering hot or cold therapy to treat body aches remember NOT to fall asleep with either.


End file.
